


Go Off Together

by anthonyjstark



Series: Tadfield Advertiser - Good Almonds [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Eventual Romance, M/M, More like friends AND lovers, Prologue, Slow Burn, Some angst, after the apocalypse, friends to lovers?, part of a series, spoilers for the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthonyjstark/pseuds/anthonyjstark
Summary: This work is a prologue to a series of other works, but can read read alone. **Spoilers for the show**__Aziraphale and Crowley have been dancing around each other for a very, very long time.In this case, quite literally.





	Go Off Together

**Author's Note:**

> I edited the end at least four times and then gave up at this ending without editing, so have mercy on me.

Angels, in general, do not pick particular places to go for brunch, and angels, in general, do not eat alogether. Nor do they make human friends in said brunch spot. Aziraphale is not your general angel, however. He does, in fact, have a favorite brunch spot, and human friends who own the small cafe, as well as a specific order.

(Blueberry scone with steaming hot cocoa, hot enough to give the average human third degree burns to the mouth. Aziraphale's friends think he's just incredibly talented, but they know nothing of his true origin.)

Aziraphale liked little corner spots like this where they know his name. They made him feel special, and, in a sense, more human. 

This particular spot has been around since about 1883, and Aziraphale has been going since 1885. It's right around the corner from his bookshop, so it's the perfect walking distance for the angel, not to mention quaint, which is just his style. Luckily no one has pointed out the fact that he's been going there for 20 years without age.

Aziraphale went into the shop, immediately greeted by the scent of fresh pastries and warm smiles.

"Morning, Mr. Fell! How're you this fine day?" the youngest of the workers asked. Aziraphale beamed at him while he removed his bowler.

"Very well, thank you," the angel replied as politely as possible. Before he could get a word in about his order, the boy behind the counter continued.

"Your brunch is already paid for at the usual table. Some other gentleman bought it. Said he knows you?"

Aziraphale's brows furrowed together. He didn't know anyone who might want to buy him breakfast, or at least anyone alive anymore. The last time someone had paid for him was in 1793, and that was because they had been attempting to kill him. It's difficult, sometimes, being an ethereal being. In fact, the only being who would do something like that was...

No, it couldn't be. Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley since around the time they'd met in St. James. It'd been years since then, and there's no way the demon would just pop up to buy him brunch of all things. 

"Well," Aziraphale said with the slightest twinge of surprise,"I suppose I should thank them."

Aziraphale smiled at the young man once more before venturing to the small table in the back. Almost immediately he saw someone sitting with his scone, cocoa, and a steaming cup of what appeared to be coffee. The back of his acquaintance was faced towards Aziraphale. He noted that their posture was absolutely atrocious, but, being the naturally good person he is, decided against pointing it out. 

Just as Aziraphale was about to thank the man, he spotted the glasses folded neatly by the pastry. His eyes went wide, and his chest constricted, grip around his hat tightening.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to sit down?"

Crowley turned slightly to look at Aziraphale. Catty golden eyes stared into Aziraphale's heavenly (no pun intended) blue ones. Aziraphale jump started and went to sit across from the demon, feeling Crowley's gaze follow him the whole way. 

(It had to be a dream. Aziraphale rarely slept, unlike his accomplice, but when he did he got the strangest dreams. Crowley wouldn't want to see him, not after their last meeting. It was impossible. This was a dream. Fact is all that was.)

((Of course it wasn't a dream. Aziraphale knew that, but he couldn't just accept that the one being in the universe he rather - secretly - enjoyed the company of showed up out of nowhere for some pastries. Also a fact.))

Once sitting, Aziraphale sat up and took a quick sip of his drink. It was nearly bubbling with heat, just as he liked it. Then he folded his hands in his lap and met Crowley's gaze.

"What are you doing here, Crowley?"

Crowley blinked, despite not needing to, and leaned back in his chair. "That all you've got to say? 20 or so years we haven't seen each other and you're just wondering why I'm here? Thought your kind were supposed to be polite 'n all."

(20 years isn't all that long for them. Like an extended summer vacation, really.)

Aziraphale sighed. He hadn't exactly missed Crowley's antics, but he couldn't say he hadn't gotten a bit bored without them. 

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale said instead. He thought Crowley might have smiled, but he couldn't quite tell. "Now, if you could please get to why you're here?"

Crowley shrugged and crossed his arms. He slid further down in his seat, legs extending to where they brushed Aziraphale's knees. The angel gulped but dare not move.

"Can't by an old friend brunch?"

Aziraphale turned his head in suspicion. "You and I both know we are not exactly friends, dear boy."

Crowley would be lying if he said he wasn't slightly disappointed. After a few centuries with Aziraphale he had thought they had become at least slightly friends, but apparently the angel disagreed. It wasn't a big deal, of course. Crowley had plenty of other friends both here and down below, he certainly didn't need the angel. 

(That's a lie. It was a big deal, and he had no other friends, so, yes, Crowley was a little more than just disappointed.)

Crowley put his glasses back on, no longer comfortable with showing his eyes. His plants would have to suffice as friends. Not that Aziraphale would care, other than in that stupid angelic obligation way of his, but that was what he had, and that was that.

"Yeah," Crowley said, turning to look around. Soft music began to filter through the cafe, and Crowley's foot began to tap to the beat on reflex. He thought absently about getting a car, one with some sort of music playing system. Get some variety.

"Hm?" Aziraphale hummed. He looked where Crowley was, but found nothing, and turned back to the demon with a puzzled expression. 

"The music. People are starting to dance." Crowley pointed to nothing in particular, and, upon seeing Aziraphale's still confused expression, leaned over the table. 

"Care to join them?" 

A few people were beginning to shimmy around to the music, now that Aziraphale was more in tune to notice. It wasn't unusual, he'd seen it happening here before. Normally it was on Wednesday, when the crowd began to shuffle in and the sun was out enough for energy to be wasted. He'd never joined in before, of course, but found it interesting to watch. Now, though, Aziraphale wasn't certain.

He smiled awkwardly.

"I don't know," Aziraphale said, almost quietly. Crowley was pleasantly surprised to find that Aziraphale was blushing lightly.

"Come on, angel, everyone else is doing it. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Aziraphale frowned and Crowley groaned, throwing himself back in the chair again.

"What is it? Do head offices not approve of dancing? Is it because I'm a _demon_?" He emphasised the word with twirling hand motions. It would have been funny in any other situation.

Still, the comment didn't seem to deter Aziraphale's doubtful look. Crowley dropped his arms and frowned as well.

"Come on, angel, it'll be fun. I promise."

Aziraphale's eyes squinted. "You're a demon. You're known to lie."

"I'm not."

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down at his feet. He twiddled his thumbs and looked up at Crowley with a slight cringe.

"I'm so very sorry. I really am."

If Crowley's shoulders drooped slightly, Aziraphale didn't mention it. 

"Fine. The song is over anyway."

(It wasn't. People were still dancing. They didn't mention that either.)

The overwhelming need to fix it popped into Aziraphale's mind, and he jumped right on it, burning guilt settled in his gut. 

"I'm incredibly sorry, Crowley, I just don't think it would be appropriate. I hope you can forgive me. Is there anything I can do to make up for it? Buy you a drink, perhaps?"

Crowley shook his head and straightened his tie. "Yeah. No. It's fine. Thanks anyway, though. Maybe some other time." Slitted eyes traced over Aziraphale before turning. 

Aziraphale's head shot up, and he stood quickly, nearly falling back again. "You're leaving?"

Crowley didn't reply and instead took another drink of his probably now cold coffee. Even behind the glasses Aziraphale could tell the demon was staring back at him. 

"I didn't actually pay for anything. Just so you know."

Aziraphale watched as Crowley swiftly sauntered out and disappeared into the crowd. His heart rung loudly once in his ears, and Aziraphale found himself moving as well, right up until he saw the demon.

  "Crowley!" 

The demon stopped right before he crossed the street. He glanced up wearily at Aziraphale. The angel swallowed down his fear. 

  "When might I see you again?" he half yelled, voice trailing off slightly. Crowley fixed him with a half glare.

"Does it matter?"

(Yes.)

"I suppose not."

They watched each other for a few ticks. Aziraphale shuffled back and forth.

"What will you be doing?" he asked. Crowley thought for a moment about this. Traffic continued on.

"Sleeping."

Someone passed in front of Aziraphale. By the time they passed, Crowley was gone, and the crowd had hidden him from any view.

Aziraphale sighed and returned back to his table to pay for food he wasn't going to eat.

Crowley still owed him for those crepes.

\----

1964 - Somewhere in London

The music was loud. So loud, in fact, that the chatter of about fifty people was almost completely drowned out The Temptations music.

Crowley is sitting at a bar, twirling a glass of scotch and watching as the liquid glistened in the lights. His head felt light and slightly fuzzy from how much alcohol he had consumed and allowed himself to feel. The slight burn against the back of his throat felt comforting as he took another drink. 

One of the bartenders looked at Crowley with slight concern. "Bad day?"

Crowley scoffed lightly and glanced at them behind shaded eyes. "All days are bad as a demon."

The bartender chuckled and nodded towards Crowley's glass, obviously taking the comment as drunken slur. "Need a refill?"

Crowley looked down as well, noticing that he had emptied the beverage without realizing it. For a moment he thought that having another drink would be bad since he had to drive late, which was against the law. Plus, Aziraphale would highly disapprove. Then he remembered that he was a demon, Aziraphale wasn't there, and he could sober up any time he wanted to.

"Sure, why not?"

("Why not" was a rhetorical question. There were many, many reasons why not, but Crowley chose to ignore that in favor of forgetting. Not that he would. Hell was generally difficult to forget.)

Next thing Crowley knew was that the bartender was taking away one of his drinks instead of providing one with a look of both concern and disappointment.

"Look, it's been fun and all, but I think you've had your fair share of drinks for the night."

Crowley's finger traced the condensation on the bar counter. "Yeah." He smacked his lips before nodding blearily. There was more at home. "Yeah..."

The demon reached in his pocket for his wallet, fumbling for money he knew he didn't have, because a demon paying for food or drinks would most certainly get him discorporated for a century or two. 

"Don't worry about that, my dear."

Crowley's fingers stopped searching upon hearing the smooth, familiar tones, followed by the soft hand on his bicep. He glanced over at Aziraphale, wondering if he was hallucinating now. But the angel's cheeks were rosy as ever as he smiled and paid for the alcohol, entranced in a slight conversation with the bartender. 

"Angel?"

Aziraphale stopped speaking and turned to Crowley, blue eyes somehow knowing exactly how to find Crowley's hidden look. He knew the demon so well that it hurt. 

Crowley swallowed thickly. He'd had way too much to drink if this was all he could think about.

"Hello, Crowley. Need a lift?"

Crowley huffed and made an attempt at standing, only to trip and fall directly into the angel's grasp. Aziraphale, being stronger than he looks, held Crowley quite easily and gave the bartender another one of those - quite literally - angelic smiles.

"Thank you for calling me," he said, and Crowley could feel the gentle rumble in the angel's chest. The music changed in the background to something a little more peppy, and Crowley perked up, remembering the last time they had seen each other.

"Just get the poor guy, home, yeah? Had a pretty rough break."

Aziraphale nodded, about to make a reply when Crowley twisted, pulling Aziraphale with him. 

"Danc _sssss_ e with me," Crowley hissed. Aziraphale was incredibly relieved that he was in the way of the crowd so no one could witness the serpent tail that flickered out of Crowley's mouth. 

The angel clenched his jaw. The last time he'd seen the demon was in 1941 when Crowley had saved him from far too much paperwork (and his books.) Seeing him now, like this, seemed to be a complete turnaround. 

"You need to sober up. This is no state to do much of anything in."

Crowley hummed and raised a brow, smiling like the snake he was. Aziraphale's fake-ish heart clenched unnecessarily. 

"Wasn't a no," Crowley murmured. Aziraphale gulped and hoped that Crowley's drunken mind couldn't tell the difference between lighting and a blush.

"Come on, you old serpent," Aziraphale continued. Crowley's pouty frown made his stomach turn, but he continued on carrying him out to the Bentley anyway.

"Demons suck," Crowley said suddenly. Aziraphale plopped the other into the passenger's seat and buckled him in.

"Oh?" Aziraphale made his way to the driver's area and buckled in himself. 

"Yeah." Crowley paused and watched as the scenery passed by, and at the appropriate speed limit. It took almost five minutes before he continued. "You know they called me on Wednesday?"

"Did they now?" Aziraphale egged. Crowley nodded and turned to face the angel, looking at him over his shades. 

"Y'know they gave me a com- comma- conmin- They said I did a good job? For something I didn't even do? And now they're praising me or whatever demons do. Stupid." He didn't wait for a reply before sighing dramatically and turning back to the window.

Aziraphale bit his lip. Although Crowley wasn't particularly making much sense, the angel still felt badly.

"I'm terribly sorry, dear. Is there anything I can do?" Aziraphale grimaced at himself. Of course there isn't. His help would get Crowley killed. Well, temporarily inconvienanced. 

Crowley shook his head no as they pulled onto his street. Aziraphale turned to the demon, and Crowley turned to look at him in return.

"I should sober up now."

"Yes, I guess you should."

A beat more of silence. Aziraphale exited the Bentley and waited for Crowley to follow. When the demon finally got out he continued to stare sullenly into the distance, but Aziraphale could tell he was sober. Mostly because the alcohol smell radiating off of Crowley had gone away.

"Sorry you had to see that. Especially after having not seen each other for so long." 

Crowley stood by Aziraphale without looking at him. They both watched Crowley's plants through the window as a result. The slight breeze of the day rustled their own hair.

"No need to apologise, Crowley," said Aziraphale. "After so long I had begun to believe you were ignoring me, actually."

Crowley whipped around to look at Aziraphale. "You thought _what_?"

(Aziraphale's ears turn a lovely shade of pink when embarresed. It's one of those little quirks that everyone has; even angels.)

"Oh, my," he whispered, looking back to Crowley. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You thought I was ignoring you?" asked Crowley, eyebrows so far up they were nearly in his hairline.

Aziraphale tilted his head in much the same sense as a confused pup would. "Well, yes. You left rather abruptly after our last meeting, and seeing as I treated you so rudely-"

"Angel," Crowley interrupted. Aziraphale squared his shoulders and sucked in a breath he didn't need when the demon poked him directly in the chest. "I thought you were ignoring _me._ "

Aziraphale stared dumbly at Crowley, who returned it just as blankly, neither moving an inch. In the window, Crowley's plants rustled, not quite sure what to do with themselves.

"Well," Aziraphale said at long last. Crowley licked his lips and stood back upon realising how close they had gotten.

"Well," he echoed. They stared at one another for a long while before inhaling simultaneously.

Crowley patted his sides and nodded once, then continued, "Right. Yes. Thanks for the ride, angel."

Aziraphale smiled somewhat awkwardly and nodded as well. "Of course. Anytime. Well, not anytime-"

"Yeah, that would be strange-"

"Yes, it would be.... Strange."

Aziraphale gulped. Crowley licked his lips. The plants shimmied. They went their separate ways.

It was a years before the spoke again.

\----

They saw each other briefly when Crowlevery on putting together his final Holy Water heist. The next time was when Adam, Warlock, and the other baby were born. Also known as Armageddon. It's been three weeks since then. 

\------

The whole affair was rather silly, Aziraphale found. At least it was in the beginning.

Crowley's entire plan was unusual as it was, but it could have worked, and it sort of did, so that came out just fine. 

The world was safe. Armage-don't was a success. Adam was back in Tadfield with Dog and the Them being perfectly normal children, Heaven and Hell were leaving him alone at long last, and the world, as stated, was finally safe. Well, as much as Earth can be.

Yet, there Aziraphale was, sitting in his reinstated bookshop, alone. 

It had been a while, he realized, since he'd been completely alone. Eleven whole years he had been with someone as a near constant and now that he was not, Aziraphale felt... Lonely wasn't the right word. Perhaps overwhelmed was a better way to describe it. That fit well.

Sure, eleven years wasn't a whole lot of time for an immortal being, but those eleven years were an experience which could only painted as a the longest 11 years of Aziraphale's life.

Aziraphale sipped at his cocoa. The chocolate left a sweet taste in his mouth which covered up the heat, and he blew on it gently. Habit more than anything. 

Blue eyes shifted over to the phone resting atop a few books on his desk. Normally at this time he'd be getting a call to check up on Adam - or, more specifically, Warlock, but that won't be brought up - or perhaps just for a house call. It didn't ring, however, and Aziraphale found himself staring at the wisps coming off his beverage instead.

Without a moments thought Aziraphale was on his feet and dialing. 

The phone's ring seemed to take longer than usual. Aziraphale looked down at his fingernails like he'd seen people in the movies Crowley had shown him, but that didn't seem to do much for him, so he settled for pacing lightly.

At long last the ringing ceased. 

"This Anthony J. Crowley, sorry to keep you waiting but unfortunately I don't care. Leave a message at the beep."

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. "Crowley? Crowley, is me. As in Aziraphale. Yes, well-"

"I know who you are, angel," Crowley's voice filtered through. The slight spray of a bottle. He was tending to his plants, then.

"Ah, yes. Of course," Aziraphale babbled, embarrassment glimmering in his tone. 

There was a shuffle, followed by what sounded like sandpaper against a chalkboard, something shattering and a long string of curses. Aziraphale winced at both the vulgar language and the damaging noises.

Crowley came back a moment later, breathing somewhat ragged into the phone. "What's up, angel?"

"Are you alright over there? It sounds like you're having a bit of trouble."

There was a short laugh, a shift, as if Crowley had moved to let Aziraphale see. The angel chuckled, being able to picture the demon's movement and face perfectly as he spoke.

"What, this? Naw, it's fine, all fine. Really, I'm not lying this time, really. Thinking about going full-time honest after that whole Apoca-not thing. What d'you think?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale interjected. The demon shut up, for once. "Would you like to come over?" he asked hesitantly.

Crowley squinted on his end towards the plants. 

"Yeah, sure," he began. "I'll be right over. Just got to give these shitheads one last warning."

"Of course, dear," Aziraphale sighed, hoping Crowley hadn't heard the relief when speaking. "See you soon."

"Yeah, see ya."

The line went dead.

Aziraphale turned back to his cocoa, now lacking its steam and overall hellish (pun not intended) heat. He thought back to his reading of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and the mug of cocoa collecting literal dust and shuddered before cleaning it up.

(In other words, Aziraphale was terribly anxious. He skipped right passed nervousness into anxious territory and was now cleaning to calm down. He seemed to do this a lot, which is probably why the shop is unusually clean despite the clutter. Messy is different than dirty, Aziraphale knew, and the difference between those is the same between his nerves and anxiety.)

Just as Aziraphale was finishing up with rinsing out the cocoa there came a not-so-familiar ring, followed by an all-too-familiar (as well as welcome) footfall.

The angel spun on his heel to find himself looking directly into Crowley's eyes. Without the shades. Somehow it was more calming than staring into black sunglasses.

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale greeted after having cleared his throat. He smiled tightly, praying the anxiety didn't show through. 

"Hi," Crowley replied simply. He seemed... Confused? Aziraphale couldn't tell, honestly. 

Crowley continued,"What's this about then, angel? Bring on another Armageddon or something?"

Aziraphale sputtered. "Firstly, I would like to remind you that you were the one who lost Adam. I was just..." He trailed off awkwardly. He was just what? There was absolutely nothing he could say here that would portray the means of this meeting. 

"I owe you a dance," he settled for. Aziraphale stood tall and pursed his lips in anticipation. Crowley, on the other hand, just narrowed his eyes.

When a response never came, anxiety began to build up in Aziraphale once more, rising to the surface to make his chest tight and his head spin. He sucked in a breath, shifting nimbly if not slightly awkwardly from foot to foot, hands clenching behind him.

"We don't have to, of course, if you wouldn't like to. My side have never been particularly great dancers anyhow, which is actually why I rejected you in the past, but I'm sure you already knew that. Although, I had learned a particular dance back in the day which unfortunately went out of style, but I don't think you'd be interested-"

Aziraphale stopped abruptly as his record player started without anyone touching it. It was one of his songs. Perhaps it wasn't Crowley's style, but the demon shrugged it off. 

"You don't know how to dance?" 

Aziraphale's lips pressed together in a thin line. He shook his head side to side.

"Let's start with the basics then, yeah? 6,000 years of being a demon, you get to know some things."

"Right, yes, of course." Aziraphale bit his lip slightly. "How shall we start, then?" 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, puckered his lips, then laced their fingers together gently. Crowley ignored the dull ring in his ears and the warmth of angelic grace spreading through his cold fingertips. Not the time. 

Aziraphale began thinking, letting himself get dragged into the music. Crowley had been trying to tempt him into many situations over the years, and only two had worked. One was to stop the Apocalypse (he's rather glad he let himself go along with that one) and to dance. Dancing, of all things. He'd always had an interest, of course. But with a demon it seemed a bit peculiar. In any sense, Crowley seemed to be the perfect teacher, seeing as they'd been best friends from The Beginning (capital T B for importance) so Aziraphale really didn't see a down side to this. Besides, Heaven didn't much care anymore. Whatever they thought could fuck off.

(Aziraphale snickered internally at that.)

"You're a fast learner."

"Oh," Aziraphale smiled. He noticed their feet were moving. They probably had been for a while. "Thank you."

Crowley watched fondly as Aziraphale stared down at their feet, which were moving rhythmically to the beat. Aziraphale stumbled and Crowley laughed, tightening his grip and stopping momentarily.

"You alright there, angel?" Crowley grinned at Aziraphale as the blonde cleared his throat and nodded.

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered simply, avoiding Crowley's gaze at all costs. 

Crowley's stomach flipped upon seeing the light red shade that Aziraphale's face had turned, right up to the tips of his ears. Crowley replaced his feet and loosened his grip on the angel. _Not the time._

"Want to continue the lesson, or...?"

"Yes!" Aziraphale exclaimed, head shooting up and smiling. It faltered when he realised what he'd done, and he looked away again. "I mean, yes. That would be lovely."

Crowley moved around his jaw. He was starting to believe that maybe this wasn't such a great idea. But this was Aziraphale. Sweet, kind Aziraphale; the only person in the entire universe who stood by Crowley; the only person who dealt with his cheesy jokes and whining. He still couldn't figure out why that was, but Aziraphale did, and Crowley had almost lost him. He'd be blessed if he let this time go to waste.

Except that this wasn't right. This wasn't the right time, or place, or weather. Basically nothing was right, and Crowley wasn't even certain what it was supposed to be right for, but this was not it.

(He'd been trying to figure it out for nearly 5,876 years now, roughly. Not the exactly maths, but close enough to resemble the time span.)

"Crowley?"

The music stopped before he could help it. Crowley looked down slightly at a concerned looking angel.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Aziraphale questioned. The angel's blonde brows were knitted together.

"Yeah." Crowley stepped away from Aziraphale, breaking the contact. "Just thinking is all."

Aziraphale's lips parted. "Oh."

Crowley scratched at his head. He hated the almost disappointed look on the angel's face; the way his forehead creased in worry; the slight pinch around his eyes, or the nervous twitch in his fingers. Little ticks Crowley had noticed over the years. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of them, but it wasn't the time. 

Not yet.

"You're my best friend, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale blinked. Some of the sadness went away from the angel's face, which helped relieve some stress off of Crowley. 

"I was serious about going off together." He watched as Aziraphale gulped, but didn't interject. "Maybe not Alpha Centuri, but somewhere. Anywhere, really. Maybe a nice place in South Downs, or-"

"Tadfield?" Aziraphale cut in, voice much quieter than intended.

Crowley nodded slowly and stalked back to Aziraphale, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed with a newfound seriousness he hadn't quite felt before.

"Come on, angel. Without- Without the looming death of everything, or the Antichrist, or- or- Well, anything, we've got the whole universe ahead of us! A lifetime that we can spend just- just living!"

Aziraphale's expression was something Crowley couldn't name. It was the same face he wore whenever he wanted to do or believe something but couldn't decide if it was morally right or not. If it was _good_. 

Crowley nearly whined in desperation of whatever this was, but held himself back. He tilted his head, eyes wide and shoulders turned in that particular way and back slouched to better look Aziraphale in the eyes.

"We could do this, Aziraphale," Crowley pleaded, voice soft. "Just say yes."

Aziraphale shuffled. He could see it. He could imagine the quaint cottage with a miniature library and a seperate room for Crowley's plants. The little kitchenette where he could finally learn how to make something other than hot beverages, like sushi or scones. It sounded absolutely wonderful; like a dream.

"Crowley," he started, hesitantly. "It's just a dream. We can't- _I_ can't-"

"But why?" Crowley basically begged. Aziraphale's mind went to mush at the silent desperation in the old snake's eyes. "The offices don't care anymore, angel. We're alone! You and me, against the world, just like the past 11 years."

A deep breath, shaky. Crowley worked his jaw again, his own nervous quirk.

"You're my best friend, angel."

Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat this time around. He thought back, vaguely, of Crowley, alone, in a small bar, drunk beyond compare, dirty, face crumpled and broken.

" _I lost my best friend."_

The angel's eyes went wide, and his mouth ajar. "Oh."

Crowley looked down at the floor and placed a hand on his hip. Then he looked back up, lip bitten down under his teeth. Golden eyes gazed down at Aziraphale, gentle and far too sad for the angel's liking.

"I'm sorry, Crowley. For everything I said."

Crowley nodded. He scratched his cheek roughly, making a gruff noise in the back of his throat. "Yeah. I know."

He looked off, having cooled down, and chose to watch outside one of the windows instead. Aziraphale glanced that was as well, but turned back upon Crowley's barely audible tones.

"6,000 years we've known each other and I've never told you that, all because of some... Some stupid unspoken law thing between our worlds." Crowley's gaze flicked to Aziraphale quickly. "I never expected this to last. Us. The world. Anything. But here we are, alive and standing, despite literally everything."

They held each other's gaze; continued.

"We don't have sides anymore, Aziraphale, you know that. We have," Crowley gestured vaguely around the bookstore,"this. Whatever this is supposed to be. But it could be more. Just... Take a chance. For once, take a chance with me. Go off with me. Please."

Aziraphale traced the crease that had formed between Crowley's eyebrows. Then he took in the pool of emotions held within those golden eyes and felt his body swell with something he had felt many times before, something in which he couldn't identify. He clung to it like a lifeboat, and took one trembling breath. Aziraphale nodded.

"I suppose I should start packing then."

Crowley beamed something genuine and pure. It feet him well, Aziraphale noted.

He hoped to see it again.


End file.
